


Fair and Square

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry bests Ron at a game of wizard's chess. The stakes? The loser has to do any favour the winner requests. Harry'd like to see Ron in some of his sister's clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair and Square

"I won't do it." 

"I won fair and square. Buck up."

"Fair and square? Fair and ruddy _square_?!?!"

"Yes, just like I said. Fair and square. Now get to it." A pause, then a grin. A smarmy grin that Harry rarely wore but Ron really hated quite a lot. Well, he hated it quite a lot when it was directed at _him_. If Harry was giving that look to someone else, Ron was usually amused, because it meant Harry had bested them and they, prats that they were, deserved it. In Ron's opinion, he _really_ didn't deserve that smarmy grin. Not one sodding bit. 

If Harry was going to insist that he won fair and square, Ron was going to insist that Harry was both talking and thinking out his arse. How fair was a win at chess when a bloke kept distracting his opponent by doing dodgy, odd things like rubbing his foot along the other person's calf and biting his lower lip and giving cheeky grins and all that? NOT VERY FAIR AT ALL.

Keeping his own arse firmly planted on the rickety wooden chair, he leaned his elbows on the kitchen table and gave Harry a challenging look. "I'm not getting to anything, mate. You're a dirty rotten cheater, you are. Fair and ruddy square _my arse_."

"We shook on it," Harry said evenly, shrugging and leaning against the ice box. 

Damn. Ron had to admit that Harry had a point there. They _had_ shaken on it - winner gets to request a favour from the loser. No backing out. 

Fine. FINE. Right then. Harry'd beaten him at wizard's chess (cheating like mad, at that!) and he'd have to do whatever favour it was that Harry wanted of him. But...

But this "favour" was just too bizarre! Too dodgy! Too--

"Y'know," Ron said suddenly, getting up and tucking his chair in. "It's getting late and we ought to Apparate back to Hogsmeade so we can walk back with the everyone else. If we don't, and one of the professors notices that we're missing when we get back to Hogwarts, we'll be in a world of trouble, Harry. And I don't just mean with professors, either. D'you realise how cross Hermione'll be that we ditched Hogsmeade and came to the Burrow? She'll likely point out that it violates a bazamillion school rules and if we'd read _Hogwarts, A History_ we'd know that Bad Things always happen to blokes like us who skive off Hogsmeade and that she'll say 'I told you so' when we wake up tomorrow with Flobberworms for ears or a slip for detention with Filch until the end of bleeding time?"

"It's not too late at all," said Harry, crossing over to Ron. "See?" He pointed at one of the kitchen windows and Ron's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Still light out." Yes, Ron could see that. Bugger.

"Right then," mumbled Ron, shuffling out of the kitchen and toward the corridor, Harry following closely behind. Pausing at the bottom of the narrow staircase, he turned toward the Weasley clock, mouth opening to protest that any minute his mum and dad would be returning from whomever they were calling on and they'd do well to just Disapparate so none would be the wiser. However, the hands for his mum and dad were still on 'visiting' and didn't look to be moving to 'traveling' anytime soon, so he promptly shut his gob and slowly started his way up the stairs. 

Finally they reached the third landing, manoeuvring around the bannister pole before continuing down to Ginny's room. This was it. If he didn't act now, he'd have to do this _thing_ that Harry wanted and he'd never live it down and, oh, it was going to be _awful_. He just had to-- He had to do _something_.

Hand on the doorknob, he gave Harry one last, desperate look. "Are you sure you don't want to ask another favour from me? Really, you could ask for something better. Something that would last longer than this! I'll, er...I'll polish and service your broom for a month! Or I can...I can...I'll do your Potions homework for a week! Just think on it, Harry. No Potions homework for you for a week!" Ah ha! That was BRILLIANT. There was no way in the world Harry'd pass that up, would he? He'd be a total barmpot to say no to that, definitely. Ron grinned as he eyed Harry, already feeling relief wash over him. Saved. He was saved and they could just nip on back to Hogsmeade and all would be well.

Harry returned Ron's gaze and frowned, obviously taking time to think it over. The grin on Ron's face grew broader and broader; surely Harry was going to say that it was all right in a minute or two and then the coast would be clear. 

"No," said Harry finally. "I think I'll be fine with this favour, Ron. Really." Then Harry gave Ron a pat on the shoulder and covered his hand on the doorknob, opening Ginny's door. Taking a step back from Ron, Harry gestured to the doorway. "After you."

_Fucking hells_.

Avoiding Harry's eyes, Ron stepped into his sister's room and looked around. She'd left it neat and clean before they'd left for Hogwarts that August. Unlike how his own room surely was, there weren't any bits of clothes laying about or books half-opened on her bed or any trunks. The paint was peeling a bit on her dresser, but other than that the room was in pristine condition. 

He heard the door click shut and then Harry was beside him, gesturing toward Ginny's dresser. "Well, er, there it is."

Ron felt like he had cotton in his mouth. Swallowing quickly, he nodded, ducking his head. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "There it is."

Harry cleared his throat. "Right then."

"Right then," Ron echoed, clearing his own throat as well.

"Maybe you could start by, um, opening a drawer?"

"That'd work, I reckon."

"Okay," said Harry, crossing his arms about his chest and rocking back on his heels. He nodded at the topmost drawer. "How 'bout that one?"

"Er. All right," Ron muttered. 

_No, it bloody well **isn't** all right! I can't believe I-- Oh for fuck's sakes. I ought to just get it over with._

Mumbling a few choice words under his breath, Ron screwed his eyes shut and yanked open the top drawer of Ginny's dresser. He waited a beat of one, two, three, but Harry didn't say a word so he thought something might be wrong.

"What is it?" said Ron, opening his eyes and watching the odd expression on Harry's face.

Maybe something was the matter. Maybe Ginny kept a giant tarantula or something in her drawer. He wouldn't put it past her to keep something like that in the house. A giant bloody spider'd be a funny ha ha trick to play on him, after all. Ginny _was_ rather cheeky. Well, if there was a giant bloody spider in that drawer, he was going to hex it and scream. Maybe not in that order.

Steeling his nerves, Ron sucked in a huge gulp of air and dropped his eyes to the drawer.

_Oh_.

Well _that_ explained Harry's dodgy sort of expression. There wasn't any giant bloody spider in that drawer, but it was full of girl knickers and colourful socks and something that he wasn't entirely ready to think about his sister wearing even though she was developed enough to do it. 

"Oi!" Ron yelped, pushing the drawer back in quickly. It jammed and wouldn't close all the way and he cursed, shaking it to and fro. It refused to go in all the way and he gave up after a few more tries.

"Next drawer," said Harry in a voice that was a bit higher than Ron was used to hearing from him.

"Uh huh," Ron grunted, quite sure his cheeks were red. 

Fortunately, there were no, er, unmentionables in the next drawer. A few jumpers and trousers and Ron was completely ecstatic about that. Yanking out a rainbow-striped jumper and a pair of tan trousers, he showed them triumphantly to Harry. "Here we are, then!" Pushing the garments into Harry's hands, he yanked his own jumper over his head and tossed it on the floor. Reaching out a hand for Ginny's jumper, he said, "Give it here, yeah?" 

Harry hugged the striped jumper and trousers to his chest. "Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "Here we aren't, morelike." 

"What?!" said Ron, his brows nearly lifting right off his forehead. "I'm only doing what you wanted, mate. Gimme back the jumper and the trousers so I can get on with it!"

"I said I wanted to see you in something your sister'd wear. I didn't say I wanted to see you in clothes that looked like something _you'd_ wear. There's a difference, mate."

Ron's mouth dropped open so wide that a doxie could have flown right into it without a problem. "What sort of sodding difference?!"

"A big one," said Harry calmly, sticking the striped jumper and trousers back in the second drawer and pushing it shut. "Keep looking."

"But I--"

"We shook on it."

"I'm never shaking on anything ever again."

Harry snorted. "I'll remember that."

Rewarding Harry with a glare, Ron yanked open the third drawer and began to dig around it. More jumpers and trousers and things and this was ruddy ridiculous. "This is ruddy ridiculous!" said Ron, straightening and tossing his hands up in the air. "I dunno what you want, Harry. _You_ pick something out then. And make it quick. I just want to get this over and done."

"All right," said Harry amiably, before crouching down and going through the drawer's contents. 

Apparently Harry hadn't heard the part where Ron wanted to get this over and done quickly because he took his good old time looking through the drawer. His stomach starting to feel more than a little sour, Ron took a seat on Ginny's bed and leaned over, elbows on knees and palms pressed against temples.

An eternity seemed to pass before Harry announced that he'd found just the thing.

"Thank God," said Ron sourly, standing up and walking to stand beside Harry. 

And then he saw just what it was that Harry had in his hands.

"Ohhhhhh no," said Ron, waving his hands about emphatically. "I'm not wearing that."

"Yeah," Harry said, that smarmy grin returning. "You are." He pushed the clothes into Ron's hands and took a step back, leaning against the door. "Have at it, mate."

"But..." Ron studied the clothes in his hands. There was so little fabric; they couldn't possibly be clothes, could they? Maybe they were just bits of fabric that Ginny'd crammed in a drawer to make something with later on.

"But nothing," Harry laughed. Ron gave him a dirty look and he sobered up quickly. "Sorry. Just, c'mon, mate. A deal's a deal and a favour's a favour. Next time you beat me at chess, I'll do any ridiculous thing you want me to do, all right?"

Pulling a face, Ron nodded and set Ginny's clothes on top of the dresser. "All right." He studied the lumps of fabric - one green and one cream - and tried to work out which was the top. "Um."

"That one," Harry said helpfully, pointing to the green.

"Okay," Ron grunted, taking up the green fabric and shaking it out. Well, he supposed it was the top. But, well, it was _tiny_. Yep. Definitely the top. There were two little straps where it'd be held up. 

Suddenly not really wanting Harry to watch him, Ron turned his back to Harry. Mentally cursing himself for having allowed Harry to distract him from his game at chess and gotten himself into this mess, he pulled the top over his head. Funny, somehow he felt more bare than he had _before_ he put the damned thing on. Glancing down, he scowled. The thing barely went up over his chest and it rode up high on his stomach. This was not going to be fun. Not one bloody bit. And judging from the small amount of space the cream thing was taking up on the dresser, Ron doubted that would be much better.

Hell.

Since he did want to just own up to Harry's favour and get on with things, Ron sucked up his wits and swiped the cream thing off of the dresser, undoing the zip of his jeans with the other. A bit of wiggling and kicking was all he needed to rid himself of his jeans, and then he stooped down to step into Ginny's. 

Only the cream thing wasn't trousers. It was a skirt. A sodding _skirt_. A sodding skirt that looked much more wee than the uniform skirts the girls wore at Hogwarts. 

Shite.

Wondering if his mum knew about the existence of this skirt in Ginny's wardrobe, Ron yanked the ruddy thing on and up over his hips. Thank fucking Merlin he still had his shorts on, or his arse would be hanging out.

God.

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, he turned round to face Harry, arms folded over his chest. "Well?" he demanded.

Harry didn't respond right away; he just kept looking Ron up and down and it really worked on Ron's nerves.

" _Well_?!" said Ron again, tapping his foot. 

"I think," said Harry, cramming his hands into the pockets of his thin jacket, "that you need to lose the socks, mate."

Ron looked down at his sagging maroon socks. Fine. He could handle taking off the socks as long as it'd convince Harry that he'd done his part of the deal. All the sooner he could get back to Hogwarts and plan on how to wallop Harry's arse at wizard's chess in a rematch. Fine. He leaned over and pulled on the toe of one sock, tugging it over his foot.

"And the shorts."

" _WHAT_?!" Ron roared, straightening so quickly that he nearly knocked his head against that half-closed top drawer. "What's wrong with my shorts?!"

"They’re sticking up top and out the bottom and, well, your sister wouldn’t wear them. That’s what’s wrong with them," said Harry casually, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Of for fuck’s sake," Ron snapped. Harry was being a hard-ass about all of this and Ron made a mental note to tell Hermione to stop ruddy rubbing off on him. Scowling, Ron shucked off his shorts and tossed them at Harry before backing into a corner of Ginny’s room, quite put out. This wasn’t amusing or fun in the least and he was damned sure this made up for all the idiotic things he’d done to or said in the past about Harry, most specifically that snit he'd got into over the Age Line. Come to think of it, this would more than make up for any priggish things he’d do in the future, too.

"C’mere, Ron," said Harry after managing to get that stubborn drawer to close a bit more. He had something wooly and pink in his hands now and Ron’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What for?" 

"Just c’mere. One more thing and then you’ve totally done up the favour, eh?"

"That’s _pink_ ," said Ron disdainfully. "I’m not sodding putting anything _pink_ on my body. This fucking serviette of a top and bandage of a skirt more than does up the favour, mate."

"Fine," said Harry, patting the top of Ginny’s dresser with his free hand. "If you won’t put it on, I’ll put it on for you."   
_Oh, of all the-!!!!_

Ron loved Harry like a brother, and sometimes he could have throttled him like one, too. Rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion he’d learnt from Hermione, Ron hopped up on the dresser, his legs dangling off the side. "Go on, then!"

"Right," said Harry, shoving the wooly pink things belonging to Ginny in his pocket. "Hold still."

Although Ron wanted to ask why he ought to hold still, he didn’t. Instead, he resigned himself to the fact that Harry was going to do what Harry was going to do and he was just going to bloody well go along with it. Closing his eyes, he leant his shoulder against the cork board above Ginny’s dresser and rested his head against a pennant tacked on it while Harry pulled his remaining sock off. Ginny’s room had always been much colder than his but he’d never really realised it until now; his bare toes were _freezing_. Fortunately, the wooly pink things Harry’d stuffed in his pocket must have been socks, because Ron felt Harry rolling something nubby and soft up his toes, over his feet, not stopping until just below his knees.

"All right then," said Harry with an air of finality about him. "There you are."

Cautiously Ron opened one eye and then the other, only to find himself staring at his reflection in the full length mirror opposite him. Beside the mirror stood Harry, who didn’t look to be as smug as he did a few minutes ago. He looked rather...well... _odd_. Not that Ron noticed this right away. He was too concerned with his own appearance, which he certainly hadn't expected to see.

"BLOODY HELL I'M HIDEOUS!!!" he bellowed, turning his face away so he wouldn't have to be subjected to such horrors. He crossed his legs and pulled the hem of the skirt down as far as it would go, then made an attempt at covering up his chest. This was _humiliating_. No, it was worse than humiliating. It was...well, Ron didn't know what it was, exactly, other than Very Effing Bad. He never thought much about his looks before; that was for girls as far as he was concerned. Seeing himself in a girl's top and skirt and pink socks was disconcerting, confusing, and made odd things run through his mind that no normal bloke ought to think. Although he couldn't be sure about that last part because he'd never known any of the blokes he ran about with to dress up in girls' clothing -- favour, deal, bet, or otherwise.

"No you're not."

_Did Harry just say...?_

"What?" said Ron slowly, fiddling with the skirt again and then holding a hand up to block any sight of the mirror as he turned toward the sound of Harry's voice. It turned out that he needn't have gone to the trouble of blocking out the mirror, as Harry was now standing in front of him again, obstructing the mirror. "What did you say?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I said, um, that you weren't...you aren't hideous."

"Not normally, no!"

"Yeah," said Harry with a nod. "But I meant now, too. Er...yes." 

Oh, this was grand. Now Harry was taking the mickey out of him on top of everything else? 

Ron rarely got cross with Harry. If anyone asked him, he wouldn't have been able to recall when he'd last gotten really ruffled at anything Harry said. But this right now? It definitely ruffled. Here he was, practically starkers on his sister's dresser in her clothes, and his best mate was having him on. Ruffled for _sure_.

"You've got a lot of sodding nerve!" said Ron angrily, leaning forward, forgetting about decency for the moment and grabbing Harry by the lapels of his jacket. "First you make me put this shite on just for a laugh cos you were a DIRTY ROTTEN CHEATER at wizard's chess, and now you're having me on on top of that!"

"I'm not having you on!" Harry protested, raising his hands and trying to push Ron off. 

"You could have fooled me!" said Ron, yanking the collar straight up, laying his hands on Harry's shoulders, and roughly pushing him away.

"I wouldn't fool you, Ron," said Harry, pushing his glasses up again. "Not ever."

Ron's lip curled and there were about a thousand things he could have shot back, but he honestly couldn't remember how to bloody well speak right then and there because Harry was so close all of a sudden and was it hot in there? Ron couldn't swing his legs anymore; Harry was right up against them and his head was tilted back just enough so he could look up at Ron properly. 

When that Dementor had come near their compartment on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago, things had got very cold and Ron had felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He felt very much like that now, except he was so warm, not cold at all, and a billion memories of Harry and him welled up in his mind.. Breathing was difficult and his nerves were on edge and he wasn't sure he liked this at all.

"Ron," said Harry, his eyes falling down to the skirt. "I...you..." He lifted his eyes back up. "Can I touch you?"

"What? Why?" Ron choked.

"I just want to," Harry mumbled. 

_Oh_.

His intial reaction had been to tell Harry no, but instead he heard himself say hoarsely, "Yeah."

And so that was why his best mate ran his hand low on Ron's stomach, brushing back and forth across the coarse hairs that disappeared beneath the skirt's waistband before moving to his side and settling there.

Ron exhaled slowly, letting out the rather large breath he hadn't been aware that he'd even taken. That had felt so nice. Very nice. Almost too nice.

"Not hideous at all," said Harry quietly. He lowered his head just enough so that a shock of dark hair fell in his eyes and on his glasses. 

"If...if you say so," said Ron faintly, studying the way Harry's hair fell forward into his face. It looked so soft and silky, like it would slip right out of his fingers if he tried to get a hold of it. 

Because he had to know if Harry's hair would do that - at least, this was what he told himself . Ron reached a hand up and brushed some of it off Harry's forehead, smoothing it down.

_Nice_. Nice and soft, just like he'd though.

"Harry?" said Ron, his throat feeling a bit tight, all of his blood rushing to his groin suddenly on account of Harry's breath ghosting about his neck and the way his hand was moving up and down Ron's side. 

Oh God. Oh GOD. 

There was a stirring in his cock and Harry's hand was on his waist now and that bleeding skirt didn't fit right or he didn't fit _it_ right cos it wasn't sitting on his waist the way it should and his arse was probably hanging out and God what did it say about him that he rather wanted Harry to touch him again and he rather wanted to touch Harry again himself? 

"Yeah?" 

"Can you do that again?"

"What? This?"

"Y-y-yeah. Th-that." 

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I touch you?"

"You a-are."

"No, I mean...can I _touch_ you?"

Ron hadn't ever had anyone else touch him the way that Harry was asking about. He'd always wanted someone else to do it, of course, but he'd just never found a person willing to do it - save for Lisa Turpin, but she was spotty and a bit of a tart and had bad teeth, so she didn't really count. Truth be told, he'd always been very nervous about the idea of it, too. What if the person touching him like that would laugh at him when they saw him? What if they thought he was hideous-looking? What if he made embarrassing noises while they were doing it? A thousand 'what ifs' had alwys run through his mind whenever he thought about this sort of touch. But they weren't running through his mind right then.

This was all curious and Ron knew he should say no, but his mind kept repeating over and over "It's Harry. It's Harry." Harry, whom he'd do anything for, even dressing up in ruddy girls' clothes just to appease him and pay up a favour. Harry, with whom he'd been on many adventures. Harry, whom he would protect to the death. Harry wanted to touch him. Harry. His room-mate. His best mate. His Harry.

"Okay," said Ron in a whisper. "You can do that."

"Okay."

There was a lingering silence then, during which Harry leant forward and rested his forehead on Ron's shoulder and Ron moved in closer to him. As Harry's hand snaked under the skirt, Ron brought one of his up to slip inside Harry's coat. He wanted to touch him. He had to touch him. Even if his hand was just laying on Harry's jumper for now, that was enough. He could feel Harry's frame move with his inhalations and exhalations and _oh_ there it was. There was Harry's hand. Right there. His knuckles brushed along the side of Ron's cock and Ron sighed, his legs falling open in invitation. Harry took the hint and moved between them, the hand he had on Ron's side curling into him. 

"You can do more than just that," Ron heard himself say, "if you like."

"I like."

A beat. Then sensation and movement and heaven and hell and earth and sky and land and sea and a crazyquilt kaleidoscope of colours blurred Ron's vision. Fingers were wrapped firmly around him, their grip much more confident and steady than he was used to, as he was a sloppy wanker and he knew it. Harry's fingers squeezed and stroked and teased, feather-light along the vein throbbing on the underside and nails raking across the top like he'd been taught by the tartiest tart in Hogsmeade, fisting and caressing and so very fuckable that it drove Ron absolutely mad.

"I need-" He gasped, raising his hips off of the dresser and pushing up into Harry's hand with a rattling keen.

"What d'you need?" Harry mumbled against Ron's neck, his breath warm against Ron's skin. Warm and inviting and wanton.

"More. I need _more_."

Harry grunted in response and withdrew his hand to lift Ron's leg up by the knee, wrapping his leg around his waist. "Better," said Harry, moving his hand under the skirt once more and resuming what he'd been doing moments before. He'd barely got a stroke off before Ron dug his heel into the small of Harry's back and yanked him close. His fist clenched in Hary's jumper and he applied more pressure with his foot, gritting his teeth and rocking his hips harshly into Harry's fist with abandon. There were noises, noises that were ridiculous and loud and shrill and they were coming from him and he didn't give a lick. He didn't give a lick because Harry was making those noises too and Harry's tongue was moving up and down his neck now and the dresser was shaking and his insides were shaking and it was fucking fantastic.

"I'm gonna-- Harry--" Ron moaned, quickening his pace.

"No," said Harry suddenly, pulling him off one last time before straightening.

Ron groaned in frustration, his cock hard and wanting and aching for release. "Please," he gasped, laying a hand on top of the wool of the skirt and pushing down hard on his cock. He needed it. Now. Right then. Soon.

"I want to-- I want to--" Harry stammered, turning a brilliant shade of red.

"Just do it," said Ron quickly, pressing down harder and rolling his hips. "Just do it, whatever it is, Harry, cos I-- need to-- need--"

Harry nodded and fell to his knees then, knocking Ron's hand away from his cock as he did so. 

"What was that for?" Ron gasped, jerking and banging his head on the cork board again.

Whatever Harry said in response was lost because he had a mouthful of Ron's cock to talk around.

_Oh fucking GodGodGodGodGod--_

Harry was sucking Ron's cock. No, not sucking. Taking, maybe, would be the better term. His cheeks were hollow with effort and he'd only just started and it was the most brilliant thing ever. Ron had never dared to imagine before that anyone would do this for him; hell, if he couldn't get anyone to wank him off, why would they have wanted to put his cock in their mouth? It was a good thing he'd never though of it before, he reckoned faintly then, because it wouldn't have ever lived up to what he was experiencing there with Harry. It was hot and cold and painfully pleasurable and pleasurably painful and he could have spent all day with Harry's mouth around his cock and his fingers twisted in Harry's hair and fucking that hot little hole. No, not fucking. Loving. He was loving that hot little hole and Harry's mouth was loving his cock and it was amazing. Obviously Harry knew that Ron's body needed release, needed attention, needed worshipping, needed _this_. Harry's teeth bit down at the base and Ron couldn't hold back any longer; he thrust wildly into that mouth, hitting the back of Harry's throat, pausing only when Harry gagged a bit, waiting until it passed to run the head of his cock along the roof with every move back into Harry's mouth and then he was coming, coming, coming. Harry swallowed it all; he kept sucking and sucking and sucking and he didn't let go until Ron stopped shaking. Releasing Ron's cock with a soft pop, he then climbed to his feet, the skirt falling back down to cover up Ron's spent cock. In the meantime, Ron fell back onto the dresser and stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling more exhausted and happy than he had in forever.

Best mates make the best...lovers. That was what the saying was, right? It was the truth. Ron didn't see how anyone could make him feel any better than he did with Harry. Harry was his best mate and his confidante and knew him better than he knew himself - including the way his body worked and what it needed. 

When Harry's mouth brushed against his and Ron could taste himself on Harry's lips, he thought that he'd more than lived up to the favour that Harry had wanted. And when Harry's tongue slid into his mouth and Ron sucked more of himself off it, he knew he couldn't _wait_ to best Harry at wizard's chess and request a favour of his own. Fair and square.


End file.
